Setting Son
by AnthonyS
Summary: The Lone Wanderer struggles with life after there are no more wars to fight, until a new enemy emerges from the North and the wasteland must band together to defeat them.
1. P1:CH1

PART ONE:

**THE ROAD AHEAD**

Chapter 1

_The Citadel_

_(Vault Escape plus 279 days) -_

The old Pentagon building was a mass of celebration. Power-armored soldiers put their ranks aside and joined each other in fervent drinking – laughing, smiling, and congratulating each other on their final victory over the Enclave. Their massive land crawler had finally been destroyed, their organization and leadership shattered, and the remnants fleeing into the horizon without a thought of ever returning. The battle was over. For some, however, it seemed the war had only just begun, for as everyone else celebrated, one man sat at the back of the crowd, refusing to join in on the party. He had the look of a man who had weathered many battles. Scars were painted across his body, memorandum to the hardships he had faced over the past year, and his eyes were hard-set on the ground in front of him. He stared at it for a long time, ignoring the multiple pats on the back he received, and refusing the numerous drinks he was offered. The soldiers simply carried on around him, ignoring the hostile fire burning in his eyes. A bandage coated the right side of his face and he reached a finger gingerly toward it, his flesh cold and prickly beneath. As his fingertip grazed the edge of the bandage, a flash of pain suddenly boiled in his stomach, and he remembered the look in his friend's eyes as he laid there dying. They had been pain-ridden, the multiple bullet wounds finally overtaking him, but they had also showed signs of relief. He was free and he had died in the company of friends. Still the fire burned in the pit of his stomach, however, and the man put his hand back down, his eyes settling back on the ground. Even as flares were launched into the sky, lighting up the clouds like the celebrations of old, his eyes refused to leave the ground, until a voice finally broke through his senses and he looked up at the woman he loved. Or thought he had loved . . . until today.

Sarah Lyons approached, out of her usual Power Armor, and looking lovely. Her hair was down across her shoulders, shadowing the left half of her face, and she had washed herself clean of all the blood and carnage. She wore a set of scribe's robes, and despite their bulk, managed to hang from her curves. The man barely noticed, though. He looked at her with more than a little distaste. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-sneer, and he growled out:

"Sarah."

"Derrick." It was obvious she saw the look of disdain in his eyes, for she approached a little more hesitantly, cautiously leaning against the table beside him. He looked at her for another moment, then back toward the ground. Sarah's fingers interlaced in her lap, unsure of what to say. She finally settled on, "Derrick, I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For what I said earlier . . ."

"About not being able to love me 'cause of everything we've been through . . . or about how Fawkes is just a Super Mutant and we couldn't waste the manpower retrieving his body?"

"Both," Sarah said more than a little defeated. "I never meant to hurt you. It's just . . . so much has happened. I didn't know what to think. You pretty much put me on the spot –"

"I don't even care about that anymore. Yeah, it hurt, but not nearly as much as when you told me Fawkes wasn't worth the trip."

"That's not what I meant –"

"Yes it was. You Brotherhood are all the same. Yeah, you've got the good of the wasteland in your sights, but only if it means turning it back the way it was . . . before the bombs. Well I'm sorry, Sarah, but the world is never going back the way it was. Fawkes helped show me that. He also did more for the wastes than you guys ever did." Derrick's voice continued to rise in volume. So much so that several nearby celebrators had stopped what they were doing to listen. Derrick realized this and slowed his tirade, taking a deep breath and setting his eyes on Sarah's. "He was my friend, a better one than any I've ever encountered since leaving the vault, and you guys left him there to burn with the rest of those Enclave rats. Yeah, we won, yay fuckin' yay, but it cost me way more than you could ever imagine. So don't you ever tell me my best friend isn't worth the trip."

Sarah sat there for a long moment, totally flabbergasted. Had she really made it sound that bad? Had she really been that close-minded? She had spent the better part of her life fighting Super Mutants. Had it turned her into such a bigot she couldn't recognize the one good one out there? She looked back up at Derrick, whose eyes still hadn't left her own.

"Derrick, I am so sorry."

"Yeah . . . me too."

With that, Derrick turned and headed toward the far side of the courtyard. Bright scarlet flares lit the sky behind him as he passed through the gates and left the Citadel. Sarah remained there leaned against the table, completely shell-shocked at what had just occurred. He was right. Fawkes did deserve better, but it was far too late to stop Derrick from leaving. Bowing her head, a lone tear escaped down Sarah's cheek. A moment later, the celebration returned to normal, as everyone swept their worries aside and went back to their drinking and revelry, all except Sarah Lyons.

Outside, Derrick stared out toward the distant humming of Project Purity. Fresh purified water poured from its filtration vats, giving the wasteland hope for the first time in a very long time. Unfortunately, for Derrick it was just one more monument to his shattered soul, and it hurt worse than all the others . . .

* * *

_Two years later . . ._

_(Vault Escape plus 1037 days) -_

"What do you think, Derrick? We got the manpower to take 'em out?"

Derrick Diamante surveyed the scene below, the binoculars pressed firmly against his eyes. Sweat beaded across his brow, rolling down his cheeks and plopping across his neck. There were at least two-dozen raiders, half of them carrying firearms, the rest an assorted mix of close-quarter weapons – nail boards, machetes, and hand axes. All showed signs of recent use. Derrick swallowed a hard lump in the back of his throat, his grip tightening around the binoculars. He glanced over at his own group of men. They were scattered across the ridgeline, fourteen in all, and all carrying a variety of firearms. They were trained on the group of raiders milling below. All of them looked ready to go, just waiting on the order to fire.

Derrick locked eyes with his second-in-command, Ian West. The youth had grown into a fine fighter over the past two years, trained in the arts of combat by his blood master, Vance. A set of tinted goggles covered his eyes, no longer used to the sun after spending nearly two years underground, learning to control his hunger. A long, hooked knife was strapped to his belt, a parting gift from the Family after he had decided to join Derrick in his travels.

Derrick wanted to say yes, that they could take out the raider group, but he doubted they would walk away from this one without suffering severe casualties. Maybe go back for some reinforcements and come back in a few days . . .

The raiders looked to be pretty well set-in –

The unmistakable sound of female sobbing interrupted Derrick's line of thinking. His eyes snapped left and he saw a large metal cage hidden behind some brush in the corner of camp. Darkened silhouettes moved within.

_Slaves, _Derrick thought to himself bitterly, _probably on their way to Paradise Falls . . ._

His grip around the binoculars tightened even further, threatening to crack the lenses. He would have to clear out Paradise Falls one of these days, and kill every last slaver within.

"Derrick?" asked a far off voice. He glanced over in Ian's direction, his eyes hard-set, and thick red lines hanging beneath his lids. Across the right side of his face, a severe burn scar marred his otherwise handsome visage.

"We'll wait 'til nightfall. Then we'll hit 'em. Spread the word – nine o' clock. And get Isaac over here."

"Copy that," Ian said sliding silently across the ridgeline. Not a single rock or stone moved in his wake. The men nodded their understanding one by one. When he reached the end of the line, he whispered a quiet word to their lead scout, Isaac, and the charcoal-skinned man followed him back over. Isaac slid in beside Derrick, his eyes never leaving the raider group below.

"You called?" Isaac asked. He had close-cropped black hair and a patch of facial hair across his chin. He also had the best eyes in the group.

"Yeah I need a hand with something."

"Name it."

"How many land mines we have left?"

"Just the one."

"Okay. You see that line of rocks over there?" Derrick asked nodding out into the camp below. On the far side a line of boulders peeked out behind some brush. Isaac nodded. "Take Hoskins and Jones, rig up a landmine at the base of the rocks on the opposite side. Cover it up with some dirt, then plant some empty Nuka-cola bottles around it, and arm it. Circle all the way around so you don't get spotted. A three-hundred yard spread should do it. I need it done in the next hour."

"Gotcha." Isaac pointed at Jones and Hoskins, two of the newer recruits in Derrick's conscript force, and waved them over. They scuttled over and followed Isaac back down the crest of the hill.

Derrick turned back to Ian. Putting the binoculars back against his eyes and looking over the camp, he breathed, "Now we wait."

* * *

The hours ticked past slowly. The raiders drank, huffed, and snorted the afternoon away. The moon was a quarter way across the sky when Derrick finally gave the order to get ready. The mine was planted and everyone was set – antsy even. Digging into his cargo pocket, Derrick pulled out a small plastic bag loaded with black powder. He dug his hand into it and stuffed a wad of it into his mouth, chewing silently, his eyes still on the camp. The coffee grounds would keep him sharp and help stave off the cravings. He chewed and waited, chewed and waited, a small fire burning in the center of camp, and only one raider still awake. He glanced at his Pip-boy, a dull green light in the dark, and took note of the time.

9:07.

_Any minute . . . any minute . . . _

9:08.

The raider watchman suddenly pitched forward in his seat and Ian appeared behind him, the stealth-boy deactivated. He waved Derrick over.

Derrick crept through the camp as quietly as possible. He stepped over sleeping raiders and made his way over to the cage, Ian following close behind. Derrick slung his assault rifle across his back and produced a set of lock picks from his inner coat pocket. Inside the cage, the prisoners slept as well, oblivious to the rescue attempt happening. Derrick breathed a sigh of relief. Pleading slaves always made the job harder. Nimble hands worked the tumblers while Ian watched his back, his eyes roaming the camp, finally comfortable in the darkness of night.

A yawn and groan suddenly caused the pair to freeze. A raider rolled over, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. The fire was still crackling steadily, and the flames shielded Derrick and Ian from his line of sight, but not for long if he moved. Ian patted Derrick on the side, his eyes still on the raider. Derrick cursed inwardly – there'd only been one tumbler left – and stuffed the picks back in his jacket, shouldering is rifle. They crouched low and watched as the raider stood and hobbled over to a nearby bush. He lowered his pants and a moment later a steady stream of liquid showered the bush.

"Hey, Jacko, any chance of letting me have a run on your slave when we get to ol' PF?" the raider asked, still too busy relieving himself to notice the shadows huddled by the cage. The pair bided their time, waiting silently. They couldn't risk an open confrontation with the raider band. There were too many of them and the slaves were at risk of getting caught in the crossfire.

At the watchman, Jacko's lack of response, the raider cursed quietly and pulled his pants back up. "God-dammit, Jacko, you'd better not be sleeping on watch again."

Derrick tensed as he watched the raider walk toward the watchman's body, slouched in his seat, his throat slit.

_No, no, no, no . . . _Derrick thought inwardly over and over. Ian glanced back at him and Derrick nodded solemnly. Ian nodded back, pulling his pistol from its holster. They both hadn't wanted it to come to this. Derrick looked up toward the ridgeline, where hidden beneath brush and dirt, his team waited. He gave them the signal and threw his hand up, his fist closed. They waited.

The raider walked up next to Jacko, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Dammit, Jacko I swear – what the fu –"

"FIRE!" Derrick called. A dozen guns unloaded all at once. The majority of them were hunting rifles, their users working the bolt-actions as swiftly as possible, while a few carried assault rifles. Derrick let out a burst from his own Chinese assault rifle. The raiders jumped to their feet, diving for cover, or throwing their own in front of the barrage of bullets. Some fired back up, most ran – right toward the line of boulders. Three lunged over the line of rocks and a devastating explosion splattered them everywhere. A shower of glass rained down upon those who were unlucky enough to be too close. Derrick and Ian took cover. Screams echoed across the camp. A few lucky shots landed across the ridgeline as the raiders finally got themselves organized, those who didn't originally have guns picking them up off the dead. Two of Derrick's men were hit and fell, dead. A grenade was lobbed and his men dove for cover. It rolled down the steep crest and exploded halfway down, though, harmless to all but the dirt. Derrick took the thrower out with a well-placed burst, expelling his banana clip. Only a few raiders remained. They were running toward the slave pens and Derrick's men refused to fire on them. Derrick himself took cover behind a rotting tree while the raiders continued firing at the ridgeline. One of them began working the locks on the slave pen. They would use the slaves as shields. Derrick gritted his teeth and grabbed for his extra magazines. Suddenly, though, Ian materialized behind the raider working the locks and slit his throat. As the other raiders realized what was happening, he aimed his pistol and shot two in the head. The last aimed, but Derrick managed to get his magazine inserted and he took him out with a quick burst to the torso. He toppled over and Ian looked back over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said, visibly relieved.

"Any time," Derrick breathed. He turned toward the ridgeline. "Cypress, check the wounded. Find out who's dead and get some stretchers built. We leave no one behind."

Cypress nodded and went about his task. Derrick joined Ian back at the front of the cage. The slaves were now awake and were cowering within their pen, obviously not sure of their rescuers' affiliation. Derrick immediately began working on the lock, twisting it with a screwdriver and working the various tumblers. Several of the slaves continued crying.

"Hey, it's okay," Derrick hushed them, trying his best not to sound annoyed. "You're safe now. We're going to take you all home."

"Who are you?" one finally summoned up the courage to ask. Derrick looked toward Ian, who simply shrugged. As the last tumbler gave way and the cage clicked open, Derrick said simply:

"The Lone Wanderer."

* * *

"Take them to the Regulators. Cruz will get them in shape to travel and give 'em a place to rest up for a while. After that, head to the Citadel. I'll meet up with you guys there in a couple days," Derrick said. He extended his hand and Ian shook it. "Sure you don't want to stop in and see you sister?"

"Nah, I think it's best she doesn't know I'm traveling with you just yet. It's still a little too hard," Ian said.

"You're gonna have to see her eventually."

"Yeah, but not yet. I'll see you back in C-town."

They parted ways then, several members of Derrick's conscript force waving goodbye as well. A few of the slaves begged to stay with Derrick, but he assured them they would be safest with the Regulators. Besides, Megaton's common house was packed to the brim as it was, and Derrick needed some time to himself. They'd been out in the field for three weeks.

The turbine-driven gates squealed open and Deputy Weld greeted him in his friendly, though automated, robotic voice. Stockholm gave him a wave as well, seated in his perch high above the town's gates. Derrick nodded back and kept on towards his house. Dogmeat joined him near the entrance to his home, panting happily beside his master. A water bowl sat outside his house, full. Whenever Derrick was out on a mission and didn't take Dogmeat with him, the town residents looked after the hound, feeding and watering him whenever he couldn't find it on his own.

Derrick opened the door to his house. Wadsworth hovered just inside, the robotic butler's mechanical eye coming forward to greet him.

"Master! It is glorious to see you. I was starting to wonder when you would finally return."

"Yeah it was a long patrol this time." Derrick unslung his assault rifle and dropped it on the table. His jacket came next, adorned with patches from his various adventures and affiliations – Reilly's Rangers, Vault 101, the Brotherhood of Steel, Rivet City Security, and Adams Air Force Base. The last one always brought a bite to it.

"And how are things with your Brotherhood of Steel detachment force?"

"Fine, Wads," Derrick said suppressing a snort. He unlatched his combat harness, the machete, pistol, and extra clips clattering against the floor. "Thanks."

"May I offer a haircut, master? I must say you're hair is becoming rather . . . unsettled."

"No thanks," Derrick said running his hand through his shaggy hair. It was swept up in the front to stay out of his eyes, though a little always managed to fall across his forehead, and the back was just barely grazing across his collar. As always, his fingers hesitated at the scar across his face. It still stung when the sun beat on it for too long, or when he thought of Fawkes.

"Very well, sir," Wadsworth said unaware of the emotional war still raging within his master even after all this time. "May I inquire as to how long you'll be staying with us this time, so I may prepare some meals?"

Dogmeat looked up expectantly, as if wondering the same thing. Derrick looked from Wadsworth to Dogmeat, smiling slightly for the first time in days.

"A while," he finally said. He removed his shirt, displaying the various scars beneath, and fell upon his bed.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** _So I decided to rework a bit of the first chapter since I wasn't totally satisfied with the original outcome. I wanted to show a little more of the Lone Wanderer's human side, and the emotional battle a survivor of that much combat experience would often experience. Also, I felt his name just didn't fit, and so I decided to change that as well. Anyways, hope everyone liked it, and as always review. Hearing what others think is like a drug, and one as writers, we are all addicted to. So, as the old saying goes, watch out for Yao Guai, and keep a spare six-shooter under your pillow. _


	2. P1:CH2

Chapter 2

_Jefferson Memorial _

_AKA Project Purity_

_(Vault Escape Plus 184 days) -_

Derrick beat on the glass with all his might, but it wouldn't give. He kicked, hammered, and shouldered against it, but the glass was built to withstand a tank, and his meager weight wouldn't cause it to break under any circumstances. Colonel Autumn fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath as radiation poisoning overtook him. The machines billowed smoke and alarms sounded from all over. Derrick's father, James Diamante, approached the glass, holding his chest as blood leaked from between his lips. His palm fell against the door and Derrick mimicked his movement, their hands separated by nothing but a three inch layer of glass. It might as well have been the whole wasteland, though. The duo locked eyes and Derrick knew this was the last time he would ever see his father alive again. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a low whimper. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he dug into the glass with his fingertips.

"Run . . . run . . ." was all his father managed to get out before collapsing as well. He fell to his knees, his eyes bloodshot and teary, and then to his stomach, where his last breath of life finally escaped his bleeding and rotting lungs. Derrick screamed, beating against the glass, but it was no use. His father was dead.

"Come on!" Doctor Li yelled, suddenly at Derrick's side pulling on his arm. "James . . . he's gone. We have to get out of here. They'll be coming for us next. We have to evacuate now!"

"I'm not leaving my father in there!" Derrick screamed back struggling against her.

"There's nothing anyone can do for him now. The radiation levels in there are lethal. You'd die the same way he did. We need to get out of here, now!"

Derrick looked at his father. His eyes stared up toward the ceiling, devoid of life. He'd sacrificed himself for the good of the wasteland, and for his son. It would not be in vain, Derrick told himself, allowing himself to finally be pulled to his feet. He grabbed at the railing, his legs shaky beneath him. "How do we get out of here?" he asked.

Doctor Li was visibly relieved, sighing heavily. "There's an old tunnel that will lead us out of here, to someplace safe. We used it as an evacuation route once before, but that was a long time ago."

Derrick nodded, descending down the spiral metal staircase and shouldering his rifle. Doctor Li followed closely behind. "I hope everyone remembers how to get there. There isn't time to round everyone up. Come on, follow me. And hurry!"

Doctor Li led him out into the museum, pushing through the door with Derrick right at her heels. They jogged through the circular row of rooms, turning a corner before Doctor Li slid to a sudden halt. An Enclave trooper turned, surprised at their sudden arrival as he fumbled for his weapon. Derrick shoved Doctor Li aside, aiming down his sights and letting a long burst go from his assault rifle. They pinged off the trooper's armor, harmless, however still managing to drive him back a step or two from the momentum alone. Derrick sprinted forward and swinging his rifle like a club caught him square across the helmet. The wooden stock cracked across the trooper's heavy metal armoring, but still sent him toppling to the ground. Derrick fell atop him and hammered the stock down again, shattering the helmet's lenses and showering the trooper's eyes with glass. He screamed and Derrick got a hand on the laser pistol holstered at his side. He yanked it free and shot a blast into the guard's chin, a red beam coming out the other end along with a cone pattern of blood and brain matter. Another trooper rounded the corner, attracted by the sounds of his dying comrade, and Derrick shot him twice in the chest, the lasers burning holes in the breastplate of his armor.

Derrick's eyes snapped over in Doctor Li's direction. There was a fire burning within, a fire that hadn't been there before.

He said simply, "Let's go."

* * *

_(Vault Escape Plus 1038 days) -_

"You cannot do this! It is a sacred monument to all that is left righteous in this world. If you move it, Atom's blessing will fall and wither from this place. YOU CANNOT TAKE IT!" Confessor Cromwell screamed with all his might, but still the seven unknown wastelanders continued to move the bomb from its two-hundred year old resting place. They dug at its base with old rusted spades and inserted heavy wooden beams in the small gap beneath it. Pushing with all their strength, they struggled to garner the necessary amount of leverage.

Derrick eyed the scene as he walked down the steep hill toward the base of the crater. Confessor Cromwell was standing on the porch of his church, where a few other Children of Atom were staring open-mouthed at the atrocity happening before them. The wastelanders ignored them all as best they could, continuing to dig despite Cromwell's incessant screaming.

"Stop it! Atom will not be pleased. He will punish us all!"

"Stop yelling, Cromwell. You're scaring the children," Derrick said managing a slight smile and nod up toward Cromwell's followers. Cromwell was less than amused.

"YOU! This is all your doing. You desecrated Atom's holy relic. If you had never touched it, these heathens would never have had the courage to attempt to move it. It is meant to stay here for all eternity, reminding us all of the strength of Atom!"

Derrick simply rolled his eyes, turning his back on the confessor and taking a seat at the Brass Lantern. Confessor Cromwell went back to yelling at the wastelanders, who had almost fully dug around the bomb. Jenny Stahl came from behind the nearby curtain, smiling when she saw Derrick sitting at his favorite stool.

"Hey, Derrick! 'Bout time you got back," she said. As usual, she wore an old yellow jumpsuit, though the upper half was now tied around her waist, allowing her to sport a fair bit of cleavage beneath an old weathered tank top. It was unusual for her to show much skin. Rumor had it, her and Jericho had had a run-in a while back and Jenny was still recovering. Derrick was glad. She was a pretty woman and he hated for her to cover it up.

"Hey, Jenny," Derrick responded trying his best to keep his eyes on hers. He threw a thumb over his shoulder. "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know. A few hours I think. When did you get back?"

"Last night. Pretty late. Was going to sleep in, but the heat and ol' Confessor Cromwell's screaming woke me up. That bathtub of yours still working? I was gonna use mine, but the pipes seem to be fouled up again."

"That's because you only use it once every couple weeks. Walter told you last time. Without constant use, the pipes are going to get clogged. Too many holes under the ground."

"Yeah, yeah I'll tell Wads to turn it on every once in a while . . . except, oh wait, he doesn't have hands."

Jenny snickered. "Yeah poor thing. Yeah, you can use it. Just don't use up all of our ration trying to get that hair of yours clean."

Derrick snorted. "Everyone's a comedian."

"A what?"

"Never mind. I'll take a pot of squirrel stew when I come back out. And some pie."

"Comin' right up." As Derrick pulled the curtain aside leading into the Stahl's home, Jenny turned toward him. "It's good having you back, Derrick. Really."

"Thanks," Derrick said before stepping behind the curtain and pulling it closed behind him. He stood there for a moment, confused by Jenny's sudden sentimentality, before turning and heading for the bath. He passed by Jenny's brother, Leo's room along the way, and halted at the door. Leo was still sleeping, but a gentle rapping on his door woke him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and broke into a wide grin upon seeing Derrick standing in his doorway.

"Derrick! You're back."

"Yeah, Leo. I'm back. You got any?" Derrick asked glancing down the hall. Andy, Leo's older brother, could be wandering around. Leo nodded excitedly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah I got some. How much you need?"

"Just a canister for now. I'll meet up with you tonight for the rest."

"Sounds good," Leo said. He rose from the bed and walked over to the far wall. Pulling a loose board off, he produced a drawstring bag, and dug through its contents. "You sure you don't want some Psycho, too?"

"No, just the Jet," Derrick half-snapped, causing Leo to visibly flinch.

"Alright, gotcha," he said producing a fresh, filled inhaler. He handed it over. "You don't look so good, man. How long you gone without?"

"Long enough."

"Yeah, I can tell. Those bags under your eyes aren't natural."

"Whatever. Thanks, Leo." Derrick headed back down the hall, but Leo stopped him.

"Hey, shit ain't cheap, man. You planning on paying?" Derrick glanced over his shoulder and Leo froze. He hated that look. "Okay, cool. Whatever you say."

Derrick shook his head and walked into the washroom, closing the door behind him. He set the inhaler down on the sink, shrugged off his jacket and shirt, and turned on the bath faucet. It took several moments for the water to finally circulate through all the pipes and filters before it finally came spewing out of the faucet. Even then, it was cold and more than a little foggy. Still, it was fresh, and it was clean. Derrick stepped back over to the sink and yanked off his boots, followed quickly by his pants and his underwear. A moment later, he stood in front of the sink totally naked, his fingers twitching toward the Jet inhaler. He'd promised himself a long time ago he'd never huff while out on patrol. Too many lives were at stake for him to get high in the wasteland, but while he was here at home, it was fair game. The only thing was, this last patrol had been an especially long one, and he'd gone almost three weeks without. Hell, one more week and he could probably kick the habit, but it just felt so good. He could forget all his pains and worries for a half-hour at a time. He grabbed the inhaler, put his lips to its rubbery surface, and injected the Jet straight into his lungs. He inhaled deeply, the air hissing out the side of the injector. The inhaler suddenly tumbled from his grip, and he steadied himself against the sink. His eyes were suddenly very shaky and he felt extremely sleepy. Then energetic. Then hot. Then cold. He stepped over to the tub and struggled not to fall in. The ancient porcelain made his skin all prickly and he leaned his head back, turning off the faucet and allowing the water to come up to his chin. It washed away more than just dirt and dried blood. It washed away the pains and aches of a life on the road, and for that he was eternally grateful. Or at least he would have been if he weren't high in the sky above D.C. looking down at all the pain and turmoil of a generation long gone. Euphoria soon overtook him and Derrick didn't rise back up out of the bathtub for some time.

* * *

Derrick exited the Brass Lantern's rear rooms feeling refreshed, and although he still sported heavy red lines beneath this eyes, the rest of his visage seemed to have cleared substantially. He strode with an easy saunter and when he sat back down in front of Jenny, he actually smiled back. Jenny noticed the change and looked at him with a quizzical gaze before setting down a steaming bowl of squirrel stew and a mug of water. Derrick took them both gratefully and began to eat and drink the delicious combination. Upon first departing the vault, the wasteland's limited menu had disgusted him. Eating squirrel or worse, mudcrab . . . What kind of messed up society was this? But now, after living out in the wilds for so long, he didn't care what he ate as long as it was hot. To demonstrate this, he shoved spoonfuls of squirrel and broth into his mouth.

"So what'd you see out there? Anything good?" Jenny asked.

"A couple muties out near the rim. Cleared out a Yao Guai nest. Then on our way back hit a raider camp. They had some slaves. Sent them to the Regulators for Cruz to look after."

"Slavers," Jenny said her face betraying her disgust. "One of these days someone's going to need to shove a well-placed nuke right in the middle of that godforsaken hellhole."

"Funny, Burke said the same thing about this place." Derrick smiled, but Jenny didn't share his amusement. It was a well-known fact he had almost become an accessory to mass murder his first time in town. If he had been a little crueler, or a little more greedy, Megaton very well could have been wiped off the map. Instead, he'd disarmed the bomb, and saved Megaton from any future retribution. "Speaking of which . . ."

Derrick glanced over his shoulder and saw the wastelanders had succeeding in propping the bomb up on their wooden beam assembly. They were now working on strapping some turnbuckles around it. Derrick guessed it was their eventual intention to have a stock of Brahmin pull it out of the crater. Not a bad plan. Confessor Cromwell still stood on the porch of his church. His mouth hung open, his eyes still unbelieving. Derrick rose from his stool, sliding his bowl away and downing the last of his water.

"Thanks, Jenny." He dug into his pocket and paid her what she was owed, plus a little extra. "I'm gonna see if these guys need any help."

"Careful. Cromwell looks like he's about to keel over."

"I will," Derrick said. He walked over to the group, the puddle of irradiated water coming up past his ankles, though not past the brim of his boot. "Hi there," he said nonchalantly to the group of workers. They nodded back.

"Hey," one managed as he struggled to latch the final strap.

"You guys need a hand?"

"No, we're good," another said. He pushed up on his straw hat, wiping a thick layer of sweat from his brow.

"Why would you want to help us anyway?" the first asked. He was the largest and looked to be the one in charge. His skin was just as leathery and tanned as his hide vest. He pointed up at Confessor Cromwell. "Ol' buddy over there has scared everyone else off with his rantings about Atom and the power of Nuka-cola or whatever it is. Sure you don't want to run off too?"

"Hell no. I'm the one who diffused the damn thing in the first place," Derrick said. "If you guys got some way to finally get it out of here, I'd be glad to lend a hand."

"Hells bells, you're the Lone Wanderer?" another asked. He jammed his spade into the ground.

"That's right!" Confessor Cromwell suddenly yelled. "He's the damn Lone Wanderer. Savior of the Wastes! The Messiah! What EVERYONE fails to remember, though, is there is only one true Messiah, one true Savior of the Wastes . . . and that is Atom. And you desecrate his holy relic."

Cromwell descended the wooden steps of his church and sloshed down into the puddle. Derrick's hands clenched tightly into fists and he felt the weight of his pistol press firmly against his thigh. Cromwell had acted similarly after he'd first diffused the bomb. It had turned violent then. It looked as though it might now too.

"Cromwell, why don't you just take it easy, alright? No one's desecrating anything. We're just moving it. I was able to remove the detonation trigger two years ago, but the damn thing is still leaking radiation all over the place. Let us move it somewhere safe. You can still worship it, just somewhere else."

"Blasphemy! It must stay where Atom intended it. And that is right HERE!" Confessor Cromwell snarled pointing toward the ground. Derrick simply rolled his eyes.

"Look, Cromwell, it's moving whether you like it or not. So just move out of the way –"

"I will do no such thing!"

Derrick came around the side of the bomb, his anger peaking. It had been a good day so far. He felt better, his hands weren't so shaky. Why couldn't it just stay a good day for once? He walked up to him, reaching for his shoulder to lead him out of the way, but Cromwell shoved him back. Derrick tried again, but the confessor suddenly lashed out, a knife coming from between his sleeves and slicing toward Derrick's chest. Derrick stumbled backward, losing his balance in the pool of water, and nearly toppling over.

"You cannot take it! It is only His to move!" Derrick sidestepped Cromwell's next attack and drew for his pistol, the workers grabbing for their shovels. That was when a loud gunshot suddenly blasted the nearby air and everyone froze. Lucas Simms, sheriff of Megaton, walked down the steep hill, a large-caliber revolver smoking in his hand. Beside him, a familiar armor-clad female strode with an amused smile on her face. Her scarlet hair was pulled into a loose bun and several rogue strands had fallen across her face.

"I heard you were back in town, Diamante, but I sure didn't expect the trouble to start so soon," Sheriff Simms said. "Your friend here came lookin' for you. Figured we'd check your house, but then I heard the commotion and knew you _must _be involved. Confessor Cromwell, why don't you put down the knife and go back inside. I'll deal with you later."

Cromwell's shoulders sagged and he dropped the knife to the ground. It floated for a second in the brown murky water before disappearing beneath. He turned and headed back up the steps, the doors to his church slamming shut behind him. Simms shook his head and holstered his pistol. Derrick strode out of the water, shaking off his now mud-ridden boots. He shook the sheriff's hand.

"Lucas. Thanks."

"No problem at all." Sheriff Simms turned to the group of still-flabbergasted workers. "You fellas can get back to work. Sorry about all that."

Derrick's eyes snapped over in his direction. "You hired them?"

Simms chuckled. "Hell, boy, you think they were going through all this for kicks? Of course I hired them. Figured it was high time we get that thing out of here."

Derrick looked toward the sky, sighing heavily. His eyes snapped back down toward Simms' red-headed companion. "And just what are you doing way out here, Reilly? You practically never make it out the D.C. ruins."

Reilly chuckled, smiling easily. "Good to see you, too, Derrick. Truth is, something came up the other day, a job . . . and I think it might be more along your specialty than mine."

Derrick's brow slanted. "What do you mean?"

"I think it's best if you came down to HQ to find out for yourself. She tells the story a lot better than I can."


End file.
